


Vala's Emrys, Albion's King.

by AncientBookLover



Series: Vala's Emrys, Albion's King [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergance, BAMF!Merlin, Druid!Merlin, F/M, I don't want to reveal the plot, I won't use more, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-07-28 08:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7631905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AncientBookLover/pseuds/AncientBookLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has left his Encampment for the first time in his life, journeying into the world as he completes the Druidic right of Weaxung - a time when all young Druids must leave home and travel through the Kingdoms to discover the world, as well as themselves. However, Merlin's journey is cut short when he enters Camelot, uncovering a plot against not only himself, but King Uther, Prince Arthur, and the mysterious kingdom of Vala. His Magikal existence at stake, Merlin learns of a secret, hidden from him by his people, that just might turn the tides of war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Merlin

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's Merlin. This is a fanwork, created for the purpose of practicing my creative writing skills.

**No young boy, no matter how great, can know his destiny. He cannot glimpse his part in the great story that is about to unfold. Like everyone, he must live and learn. And so it will be for the young Warlock arriving at the gates of Camelot – a boy that will, in time, father a legend. His name:** _**MERLIN** _ **.**

The shrieking caw of a bird jerks me from my slumber. In a split second I go from the soft comfort of a land of dreams, to the cold reality of the ground below my cot, blankets tangled around my legs, as my pillow falls onto my head. Sitting up, I clumsily extricate myself from the offending blanket nest and glare at the bird currently perched on the bed post next to where, seconds before, my head had been. By some sick twist of Fate’s humor, it’s a Merlin bird. We glare at each other for several moments, its gaze defiant and mine daring it to create the sound again.

The bird’s chest puffs up once more, the glimmer in its eye as sharp as the scream I know it is about to unleash.

There is a commotion outside – the sound of the young children waking to face the day – and the bird takes flight, rocketing through the tent flap it had, apparently, entered through.

 “ _Emrys. I know you are awake. ‘Tis time to face the day, and perform the Morning Blessing.”_

Iseldir, the Druidic leader of our camp, abruptly shatters the silence (well, as silent as it can be with those damned birds chirping so loud), his voice echoing through my mind. He has been a surrogate father to me since I was handed into the druid’s care as a young child. My mother tried to raise me for as long and as best as she could, but in a world where Magik is a death sentence, she feared greatly, were I to stay with her, I wouldn’t live past childhood. Before I turned five summers she had contacted the druids and given me into their care, telling them I had been performing Magik feats since I was seconds old (evidently I turned her hair blue before I even started crying). They welcomed me with open arms, for they knew immediately who I am: Emrys - The Child of Prophecy, bound to the Once-and-Future-King, bound to protect him and Albion, until such a time as I am no longer needed.

_“Emrys, enough delay. I know you are apprehensive, but it is much healthier to share these thoughts, than keep them to yourself. Come, experience the morning with us.”_

With a long suffering sigh, I manage to pull the remainder of my light, summer blanket from where it as twisted around my feet, and kick it back onto the bed. The tent I live in is bright and colorful, small (as I am its only occupant) yet airy at the same time. I have few items of note inside – my bed, a basin with which to wash (though we usually use the river nearby) and a cupboard where I keep my clothing. Now though, the cupboard is empty, packed into a bag at the foot of my bed. I grab a change of clothes and put them on, glancing around my tent one last time; it’s hard to believe I may never see this place, or any of the druids who live here, again.

My task for the last eleven or so summers has been training (both my magic, and political prowess) to prepare for the day it would be decided Albion’s need for me is greater than that of the Druid’s. I am to leave today on my Weaxung, my right of passage. When I return (If I return, my mind supplies, some never return) I will be a Man, ready to officially take on the mantle of leading not only my Clan, but all Clans. Now though, my task is to go out and seek my way in the world, as I search for the Once-and -Future-King. My first stop will be Camelot, where an old Sorcerer, willing to house me for a short while, lives. He sympathizes greatly with our cause, and will act as a sort of jumping off point as I figure out where to go looking. I know I should be excited to see what life is like beyond this clearing, but I will miss my people greatly.

They are gathered around The Morning Fire when I step out of my tent, young Mordred (the unofficial leader of the children, and lovable troublemaker) detaches himself from his father and scampers over. Skidding to a stop, mere inches from knocking me over, he holds his hand out in the greeting of my people: hands flat, fingers together, palms facing away from his body. I lightly touch my hands to his, bowing so my forehead can briefly meet his to complete the hello.

_“Are you excited Emrys? You are finally going to see Camelot! Think of all the people, and the food, and the smell! Will it be crowded do you think? Will –“_

He was cut off by Iseldir’s kind, but stern tenor _“That is enough Mordred. Let Emrys breath, he has yet to complete his duties for the morning - His last here.”_

Right. Morning Blessing. Every morning, the camp gathers around the fire to thank the Triple Goddess for her many gifts to us, before proceeding to break our fast together. I hasten my steps and join the circle, raising my hands to begin. I have never particularly enjoyed leading the Morning Blessing - it always seemed more of a chore than a reward - but now that I know this is my last, I find myself wanting to drag it out, make it last as long as possible. I know I will miss it from the bottom of my heart, just as I will miss the rest of my duties; all the things I have been scoffing at since the age of five, but suddenly seem so important to me – Morning, and Evening blessing, hosting any passing Druids, leading the monthly meetings, the list goes on. Before now I saw them as chores, things that took away from sleep, playing with the other children, or learning more magic, but suddenly they seem like an integral part of me. I know I am what one could call the Druid’s “Leader”, almost like a “Prince” on the verge of being “King” (This description seems wrong to me: The Druids are free spirits, and should not be confined by the ways of mortal men. Our customs are unique, and should stay that way.) and thus must hold these mantles, but I am afraid my leaving will somehow mean I am giving this up: leaving my people behind and effectively turning my back on them. I find it funny: up until today, I have spent my time fighting to stay solely Merlin, but, now that I have the chance to, I don’t want to give up being Emrys.

The Blessing is over far sooner than I would like, and we are sitting down to eat. It is a light meal (heavier for me I notice, but I am traveling today), consisting of berries, porridge, and a small portion of dried deer meat. Everyone is quiet, focusing mostly on their food, and I want nothing more than to speak out, to shout; to say ‘I won’t go, you can’t make me, my place is here, among my family. I’m sorry it took so long to realize, but please, _please_ , don’t make me leave, don’t kick me out, don’t send me away’. I stay quiet, as is expected, and swallow the fear with my fruit.

Iseldir knows though, I can tell by the way he glances at me over his bowl, and approaches me after everyone else leaves for their morning duties.

 _“You are afraid.”_ It is not a question - just the cool soothing feel of his balanced mind brushing against mine, certain in his knowledge.

_“What if I fail? What if I don’t find Him? I have such little information to go on –“_

Iseldir places his hand on my shoulder, effectively silencing me. His eyes are soft, his face gentle - kind and understanding.

_“Do not Fear that which you do not know, this will only lead to Spite -”_

_“And Spite only leads to Hate”_ It is a truth I have heard many times throughout my childhood, and I draw comfort from it now.

_“You will find Him when you find Him, and when you do, the Goddess and Magik will let you know. Trust in yourself Emrys, listen to your instincts, and live everyday with the utmost kindness for others. If you do this, you will be fine. Your Magik is strong, your Will even stronger, but your Heart? Merlin, your Heart is the strongest I have seen.”_

In all honesty, I am not sure how much this has calmed my fear that I will fail - that the Druids have made a mistake and somehow I am not Emrys - but it has calmed my soul, and confirmed in me that no matter if I find Him or not, I at least won’t be eaten alive in Camelot... most likely. _“Thank you, Iseldir. For your kind words, and for all you have done for me in the last years.”_

_“It is us that should be thanking you, Emrys. You have been leading our people from an age much younger than was probably advisable. One last piece of advice – trust in your training, and what we have taught you, there might not be a chance to practice while in Camelot. I have a letter for Gaius, please give it to him when you see him. I wish you well Emrys; may the Goddess look kindly upon your journey.”_

He gives me one last squeeze to my shoulder, before backing into the gathered crowd. I look at those assembled, crammed into the center of a clearing full of tents, and know: no matter where I am, or where I end up, this is home.

I turn, glancing away from the warm, sunny, tree lined clearing, and into the darker forest surrounding it.

“Buck up Merlin, this is only the first day of the rest of your life.”

I step into the forest, leaving my people behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story starts and ends in the present (first and last chapter), while all intervening chapters will be in the past (filling in the blanks between now and then). I did this, so, if by the end people are interested, I could do a modern Rebirth story (that has been jumping around my head for a while). Conversely, I could throw in a "present" chapter every once in a while, I haven't yet decided (thoughts?). 
> 
> I will be posting a fic alongside this one, that has a complete record of all quotes used for each chapter, most of my actual Author's notes (I didn't want this fic to get clogged up), as well as interesting facts.
> 
> Right now, I'm struggling with chapter lengths, and figuring out how long each chapter should be exactly (if you as readers have any preferences, please, let me know). Right now, I have the first two episodes completely written out, I'm just waiting to post until I know an appropriate length per chapter. 
> 
> *Edited 3.17-19.2017
> 
> If you have any questions, feel free to ask them, I'll do my best to answer!
> 
> I hope you are having a wonderful day,  
> AncientBookLover.


	2. Camelot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's Merlin. I would like to, but sadly... *Sigh*

It was a longer journey than Merlin had originally realized, to walk from the Druid Encampment to Camelot’s Citadel. The path he had been walking for most of the day widened as it left the tree line, turning into a dirt-packed road. The sun shone hot and heavy upon Merlin’s head, the available shade becoming few and far between as he approached the outlying villages and trees became sparse. He stopped for the night at a small Inn in one of the farthest villages, a place consisting of little more than a dirt path, a few ramshackle homes, and the Inn itself. It was there he heard about the festival in Camelot - it seemed he wasn’t the only traveler making his way there.

“You should see the Knife Throwe’s” an excitable child chittered away, reminding him painfully of Mordred “an’ the food is neve’ endin’! Vendors up an’ down every stree’! An’ people dancin’ and laughin’!”

“This happens every year?” Merlin confirmed, growing a bit excited himself, and also apprehensive. There would be even more people in Camelot than usual - more people to discover his secret.

“Ya! It’s all for the Anniversary o’ –“ the child was cut off by his father

“I’m sure he ready knows ‘bout tha’ lad. Tell him ‘bout the Knights. He’ll like ta hear ‘bout the Knights”.

And the child was off again, his young voice rising and falling in great crescendos as he told epic tales of the jousts the Knights of Camelot took part in. Merlin tried to follow along, but could only find himself thinking of how unnecessarily violent these jousts sounded – they followed no Teachings he had ever heard before.

It was not long before the child’s hyper voice began to die into stifled yawns and forced enthusiasm. Merlin smiled softly, before picking him up and carrying him back to his father, who was drinking with several of the adults. He deposited the child with the grey-haired man, to muffled protests of “M not tire’” and even more yawning, before retiring himself. The next morning, he was up before the sun, eager to see Camelot and all that was described to him the night before.

And, _OH_ , was it a sight to behold.

He crossed over the final hill blocking his view, just as the sun was finishing its ascent into the sky; reds, yellows, and oranges ignited the vast blue behind the sprawling castle below. Or was it above? There were turrets rocketing into the sky, massive and sturdy, beautiful in their simplicity, and terrifying in the certain way they said: keep out, I am impenetrable. The town below the castle was just as beautiful, a hodgepodge of houses and streets and people, noisy and cramped, and completely unlike anything Merlin had seen before.

The last half mile seemed to take an eternity.

He slowed as he neared Camelot’s large and imposing gates, faltering completely as he walked beneath them. He had grown up in a forest of massive trees, and yet, Merlin had never felt so dwarfed before. Taking a fortifying breath, he shouldered his pack more firmly onto his back, and took his first steps into the deadliest city in the Five Kingdoms.

Something impacted Merlin, knocking him off kilter. Surprised, he looked down into the eyes of an impishly grinning child. He worried for a second he may have harmed the boy, who’s eyebrows were drawn together in a frown, but the child bounced off him and was off running again with no more than a belated shout of “OI! Watch it mister!”.

The streets around him were packed with people and carts, vendors and animals, children running to-and-fro playing games, and parents forever worrying. Merlin had never seen so many people all in one place before, hustling and bustling and moving in and out of solid stone structures it must have taken months to build. Each person went about their business as if everyone else didn’t exist – until their business involved someone else, that is, then the conversations were held in loud shouts, so as to be heard over the din 

It smelled, just as Mordred morbidly hoped it would: so many people crammed into such a tight space all at one time brought the overwhelmingly cloying scent of unwashed body and animal to the forefront of everything. He surreptitiously held his nose as he walked along the streets; living in the forest – outside where there was very little to smell most days that wasn’t green – had left his nose bereft of a way to handle so many scents all at one time.  

Distantly Merlin could hear the sound of bugling. Curious, and not wanting to stick out in his first moments there, he followed the flow of people treading towards the sound.

The narrow, dirt lined alley eventually widened into a cobbled street that poured into a large courtyard in front of the Citadel. Inside, people were crowded around a raised platform, pushing and shoving to get closer, remaining oddly silent. A man was brought out in chains, his head down, clothes old and torn, wrists bleeding around the Cold Iron. Above them, on a balcony high on the castle wall, a door opened, and a man stepped out. He was a tall man (though not as tall as Merlin) decked in red from neck to toe, his stately silver hair predominantly covered by a heavy golden crown, and his mouth downturned in a stern frown.

The prisoner passed by Merlin’s section on his way to the platform, and his head snapped up whipping to look at Merlin.

Merlin could feel it too: this man had Magik. Strong Magik.

“Emrys” the man whispered, almost like a prayer, though Merlin didn’t know why - there wasn’t anything he could do for the man now, too many people were here to witness what he could only assume to be an execution. The guard shoved the prisoner back into walking. The man gave merlin a sad smile before mounting the steps to the stage.

“Let this serve as a warning to all – This man, Thomas James Collins, is adjudged guilty of conspiring to use enchantments and Magik.”

Merlin felt his stomach fall away – this man, Thomas, was a sorcerer, and they were going to kill him based on nothing more than that fact. His mind spun; what were the Druids thinking, sending him to a place such as this? He glanced back to the man now bent over the executioner’s block, briefly letting his mind entangle with Thomas’, hoping to find any other reason for this execution: any shred of a chance Thomas could be deserving of this.

_“Calm Emrys. I am at peace with my fate.”_

_“How can you –“_

_“Others will hear of this injustice and come to fight it. The reign of Uther Pendragon is over.”_

Merlin’s heart ground to a stop; Thomas was a plant, willingly dying to become a martyr. He was hoping to start a war, a war neither side had any hope of winning.

_“When people hear we have The Emrys, Ruler of Vala, on our side, they will have no choice but to know our cause is just.”_

_“I don’t –“_

_“My time is here, do not fear: long Live Emrys, and Long live Magik!”_

The man on the balcony, whom Merlin now knew to be King Uther Pendragon, Ruler of Camelot, had finished speaking during the brief interlude. His hand was raised dramatically in the air as he stared out over the crowd, unwavering and resolute. His hand dropped, Thomas’ head with it.

Merlin’s own head was reeling. A war, someone was trying to start a war, and they were hoping to use his name to incite people to join. But why? What weight could it hold?

And what was this ‘Vala’?

“When I came to this land, this kingdom was mired in chaos, but with the peoples help, Magik was driven from the realm. So I declare a festival to celebrate twenty years since the Great Dragon was captured, and Camelot freed from the evil of Sorcery. Let the celebrations begin!”

Another powerful Magik burst into the clearing, as an old woman flew from the crowd, shrieking in anguish.

“There is only one evil in this land, and it is not Magik!”

Merlin had to give her credit: whoever she was, she was a great actress, but knowing what he did, he could tell where her performance became forced. It was a warning, just as much as it was a call to arms; she was inviting any who heard her to join in the fight, while at the same time warning the King there was a war on the horizon.

Rather ingenious, actually.

She finished her piece, and disappeared in a flash of Magik, more show than anything else. Merlin could only hope she didn’t know of his presence in the crowd - it was beginning to look like he might need to leave Camelot sooner than originally planned.

The crowd began to grow excited, hushed whispers becoming energetic conversations as topics flitted round Merlin like butterflies in spring – some spoke of the woman, others spoke of the festival and coming frivolity, yet others spoke in praise of the King for their years of peace from Magik. Merlin turned on his heal and left the courtyard, stomach rolling as questions about the War, Druids, and Vala flit through his head too fast for him to grasp onto. Quickly, he found himself inside the Citadel main - surrounded by thick walls of creamy stone, and bustling people all busy with something important. Finding Gaius’ chambers was difficult, the path to the tower full of twists and turns and stairs that went down before they went up. However, he finally (with the help of two rather silent and imposing guardsmen) managed to find it.

The door was aged and thick, swinging (surprisingly) silently on its hinges.  The room within was empty. Well, apparently empty, for crammed into every nook and cranny were books and bookshelves. Where there weren’t books, there were tables, piled high with devices and instruments Merlin could never hope to put a name to, let alone figure out how to use.

“Gaius? HELLOOOOOOOOO!” he shouted into the crowded space. From above him, Merlin heard a crash, and looked up just in time to see a body break through the railing of a balcony he hadn’t noticed before. Instinctually he pushed his Magik into the air around him, briefly slowing time, giving him a moment to think of a solution.

Merlin’s eyes frantically alighted upon a rickety bed shoved to one side – in a pinch, it would provide a soft landing. Merlin enveloped the bed with his Magik, moving it from one end of the room towards the falling man, before releasing his Magik from the air. Time sped back to normal a split second before Gaius hit the bed, cracking the frame in two.

“Who are you?” the man asked shaken, as he stumbled from the broken bed. “And what did you just do? Did you do magic? Don’t answer that, of course it was magic.”

“I – I –” Merlin stuttered

“Where did you learn? Who taught you? I haven’t seen control like that in… Who did you say you were?”

Merlin grinned slightly at the man’s forgetful mannerisms. “I’m Merlin.”

“Merlin? Mer – Ah, Iseldir’s boy. But you aren’t to get here till Wednesday”. Gaius squinted at Merlin puzzled, it was not often he got unexpected visitors.

“It is Wednesday. I, uh, I have a letter” He held out the papers given to him by Iseldir. Gaius gave him one last suspicious look before accepting them.

“Right, you can place your things in the room through there, it’ll be yours while you’re here.” Gaius motioned to a door set back in the wall. A set of steep steps leading up to it gave the door the impression it disappeared into the ceiling itself. “Which reminds me, how long will you be staying?”

“Not long – I really hope not long at all.” Merlin turned towards the door Gaius had indicated, before pausing. “You won’t say anything about the –“ he made an aborted gesture towards the balcony.

“No”.

Merlin smiled, and trudged wearily up the steps to his new abode. The room he had been given was small and completely unlike the tent in which he lived back home. Yes, they both shared the same minimalistic furniture, but where his tent was bright and colorful, always filled with the sounds of nature, this small room was stagnant: filled with nothing but off white and dirty brown, the stench of the city below, and the sound of people shouting. Merlin really was beginning to miss home.

Outside Merlin’s room, Gaius stood still holding the letter in his shaking hands. He wanted, with the burning curiosity of a man of science, to know why Iseldir had sent the boy to him. After Merlin’s earlier display of Magik, however, he was terrified he already knew the answer to his own question.

It was dangerous in Camelot for people like Merlin – for Merlin especially – and for those who so much as looked in his general direction, let alone helped him. It was dangerous in Camelot for Merlin, and now it would, once again, be dangerous in Camelot for Gaius, for he could not turn his back on such wide-eyed innocence – on such uncertainty.

With a deep breath Gaius opened the letter, already sure of what he would find there.

Gaius, 

I turn to you for I feel lost, and don’t know who to trust. It is every mother’s fate to think her child special, but when Hunith came to me, I knew immediately she was right – Merlin is as special as they come: for he is Emrys.  But he is still so unsure of himself and who he is. I can only hope you will help remedy and provide that which we have failed to teach him: self-confidence. Right now he needs a hand to hold, a voice to guide; someone that might help him find a purpose for his gifts, for I fear the coming years will be dark, and terrible. Keep him safe. He does not know much of who he is, only what we have told him, which, in hindsight, was nowhere near enough. He knows that one day he shall take up the mantle of Leader-of-the-Druids, but has yet to learn he shall do the same for Vala, or even that such a place exists. I wanted to give him one last chance at freedom, a carefree life, before he was burdened with the responsibilities of being Emrys. I am sorry to burden you with this old friend, but he needs more help than we can provide him any longer. 

May the Goddess bless your endeavor.

Iseldir.

Gaius’ knees gave out, and he sank unceremoniously into the closest chair. Emrys. The scrawny beanpole of boy currently occupying his room, _was_ Emrys. The Emrys who apparently lacked in confidence, the Emrys who had no idea why he was here, the Emrys who didn’t even know _who_ _he was_.

“Goddess help me. Iseldir, what have you gotten me into?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be posting the Fic with all authors notes, the record of all quotes, and interesting tidbits about this story, the Medieval ages (Stuff I came upon while researching), etc. on Wednesday. It will be, so creatively, named: Behind the scenes Vala's Emrys, Albion's King.
> 
> This work is currently un-Beta read.
> 
> *Edited 3.17-19.2017


	3. A Puffed Up Peacock

“ _Merlin_ ”.

A deep voice jolted Merlin from his sleep. He bolted upright and looked around, but found no one in the small, drab, room.

“ _Merlin?"_ The voice sounded again. It was loud and reverberated throughout the small space, filling Merlin’s head completely.

 _“Who are you?”_ he sent back, but received no reply.

Merlin dressed quickly after that, donning his usual blue shirt and jacket, and, sighing heavily, the Kerchief he wore to protect his neck. As all Druids, he was marked with the Triskele, three interconnected spirals tattooed high on his chest, just under his collar bone. Every once in a while, his shirt collar would slip and, due to the Triskele’s position, expose the tip of a black swirl. As easy as it would have been to keep the mark hidden with Magik, Iseldir had warned Merlin of the dangers of using Magik for any reason while he was here. This left Merlin with the rather unfortunate need to wear rather comical looking neckerchiefs to hide the place where his shirt slipped down.

Gaius was waiting for him when he exited the room at the top of the stairs, dishing up what appeared to be congealed milk.

“Help yourself to breakfast.” In that moment Merlin had never been so thankful for the simple breakfasts he had eaten with the Druids. Politely, he sat down, before taking a spoonful and giving it a cautious sniff. It smelled as bad as it looked. Glancing at Gaius, Merlin grinned, trying to look appreciative, as he took a spoonful, and put it to his lips. The moment Gaius’ back was turned, Merlin Magiked it away.

“How did you do that?” Gaius asked, turning back around. Merlin, froze, halfway through repeating the action a second time. “Do you incant a spell in your mind?”

Merlin dropped the spoon back into the bowl, ignoring the squelching sound it made as the porridge engulfed it. “I don’t use spells, not all the time. I can feel how magic interacts with everything around me, and most of the time I just use those interactions. I invite the magic to do what I want and give it a direction - a purpose. It’s happy to oblige. For some things I need spells; things that I would need to keep active for a long period of time, or if I wanted to suddenly create something that wasn’t there before. Does that make any sense?”

“Yes and No. But I think I understand.” Gaius’ face slowly morphed into a frown, eyebrows knitting together, as his eyes grew pensive. “It's probably best we keep you out of trouble, and idle hands are Trouble’s creations. You can work for me until we find you paid work.”

Merlin scoffed, quickly protesting, “Paid work? I’m not going to be here –“

“Iseldir has asked me to take over your training from where he left off. You’ll be here until I say you are ready to leave.” Gaius’ voice was stern and unforgiving, daring Merlin to argue, but it had been a long two days, and Merlin was on a mission, so he did just that.

“But I’m looking for someone, if I stay here, I may never find –“

“You are staying and that. is. final. The Once-and-Future-King can wait until you know enough to be of actual use to him.”

“Which will be when I’m old, and have a beard that touches my toes, if you’re anything like Iseldir.” Merlin grumbled, picking up a spoonful of porridge and watching it splat back into the bowl.

“That depends on you Merlin, and how fast you are willing to learn. Here –” Gaius shoved several poultices and bottles into Merlin’s hands. “Hollyhock and Feverfew for Lady Percival, and a potion for Sir Olwen. And here” a sandwich was shoved into his other hand “Be on your way.”

Merlin made quick work of delivering the remedies (although there was a minor problem when Olwen drank the whole potion in one gulp, but Merlin wasn’t going to tell Gaius about it, so, no harm done) and found himself wondering the Citadel, exploring his new home and all the new opportunities that came with it. Everything was going fine, he had finished the sandwich, helped a maid with her upturned laundry, and carried a pig into the kitchens for tonight’s feast, when Merlin accidentally wandered into the training yard.

“Where’s the target?” a pompous voice rang out through the small enclosed space. In front of Merlin stood a group of young men, all looking to be around his age (though on the older side). Each man was decked out in light armor, and carried an arsenal of weapons. most likely Knights training for the day, Merlin decided. One of the men moved, giving Merlin a chance to see what they had been huddled around; standing in front of them, moving what looked to be an incredibly heavy target, was a scrawny boy.

The man in front threw a dagger at the target, laughing, his body and face too obscured by the rest of the Knights for Merlin to see, but he could guess this was the owner of the earlier voice. Another dagger was thrown with a sickening thunk into the target, accompanied by a yelp from the servant behind it. Things continued much like this for several minutes until the servant tripped and fell, right in front of Merlin.

“That’s enough. You’ve had your fun my friend.” He stated in false joviality, sickened that anyone could receive enjoyment out of frightening another human being in such a way. He had never seen such bullying, even among the youngest of the children back home – those too young to know better yet.

The knights parted down the middle, and out stepped the instigator. Merlin swallowed.  

He was tall (yet again shorter than Merlin, but Merlin had met very few people taller than him), well-muscled, and blonde, with piercing blue eyes that seemed to rip into Merlin and immediately dismiss him as irrelevant.

“Do I know you?” the man drawled, his tone the epitome of bored.

“Merlin –“

“Then no, I don’t, yet you deign to call yourself friend.” The man stepped closer, invading Merlin’s personal space, one eyebrow cocked up, inviting Merlin to join in an altercation with him.

“My mistake,” Merlin bit out.

“Yes I think so.” The man agreed, not backing off any, or loosening his intimidating stance.

“I could never have a friend who could be such an ass.” He regretted it the moment it left his mouth. Iseldir would be so disappointed. Merlin turned to leave, hoping to end this before things got really ugly, and he truly lost his temper.

“Nor I one who could be so stupid. Tell me Merlin, do you know how to walk on your knees?” Merlin froze, turning back to the knight again, who had managed to somehow make himself seem taller and more intimidating. The Knight’s eyes were gleaming, and his lips were slightly upturned into a smirk.

 “No.”

“Would you like me to help you?” The man’s smirk had come out in full force now.

“No.” Merlin repeated again, backing away. He looked through the gathering crowd for help, but none came.

“Oh come now, it’ll be fun! See all I have to do is –“ and suddenly a mace was wrapped around Merlin’s legs and he was falling. Of course knowing Merlin’s luck, instead of falling to the side, or backwards (like any normal person) he fell forwards, right onto the laughing Knight, knocking him over.

The Knight stopped mid-guffaw, anger radiating off him as Merlin sat up.

“I’m really so-“

“I could have you arrested for this!” the man hissed, as he shoved Merlin off and stood up. Two of the other knights hauled Merlin halfway into a standing position, holding his arms behind his back.

“Who do you think you are, the King?” Merlin baited, humiliated beyond belief. The man stepped forward, infuriating smirk affixed firmly in place.

He leant down to Merlin and growled,

“No. I’m his son, Arthur.”

Arthur snapped twice at the Guards, and they grasped Merlin more firmly, dragging him away. He glanced over his shoulder, straining against the pain of the Guards’ hold on his arms. Arthur was standing behind him, arms crossed, smirk still written on his face.

“Have fun in the dungeons! I hear the rats eat the prisoners’ faces for dinner!” Merlin heard as he passed through the gates out of the training yard.

His night in the Dungeon was uneventful, but Merlin was grateful when Gaius came to retrieve him the next morning all the same.

How bad could the stocks really be? He found himself thinking, as he was marched into the Market Square.

Bad. He decided. Really bad.  Really, very, bad. Fruits and vegetables, should never be wasted this way, rotten or not.

Merlin very much hoped he never gave cause to find himself here again.

Several hours into his punishment saw two dress clad legs appearing in his limited line of vision. Merlin craned his head to look up. A woman had walked over to stand next him, pink dress shrouded by a traveling cloak, her dark hair pulled back, several wisps falling out to frame her warm, amber, eyes. She smiled kindly down at him as she began to speak.

“I’m Guinevere, but most people call me Gwen?”

As best he could Merlin extended his hands to her in greeting, realizing a second too late this wasn’t the custom here in Camelot. Gwen’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, but she awkwardly accepted one of them anyway. Her fingers were warm as they lightly grabbed his upturned fingers, shaking them delicately as though afraid his hand would break.

“Hello, I’m Merlin. Most people call me Idiot.”

“No, no, I saw what you did, it was so brave.” Gwen placated, liking Merlin’s humble attitude – it was a refreshing change from the (false) bravado of the men at court.

“It was stupid” Merlin corrected her, kicking himself for having lost his temper so easily. A day here, and he had already gone against the Druid’s second Teaching: No anger (the first Teaching being “No hate”).

Gwen shuffled slightly awkwardly, scuffing a toe on a lose cobblestone. “Well, I’m glad you walked away – You weren’t going to beat him”. She hadn’t known him long, but Gwen could already tell Merlin was a gentle soul. Not many men she knew would take time out of their own duties to help another servant complete theirs, but yesterday Merlin had done so with a smile brighter than the sun on his face, and nothing but kindness on his lips.

Merlin huffed derisively, a joking glimmer flitting through his eyes. “Thanks.”  

Gwen laughed uncomfortably, realizing she might have said something rude. “It’s great you stood up to him;” She tried to appease, hoping to cover any awkward tension she might have unknowingly created. “Arthur’s a Bully, and everyone thought you were a real Hero.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah” she readily agreed.

Merlin tried to hide the ball of elation building in his chest – he hesitated to call it pride, for the Druids disliked such emotions – someone thought _he_ was a _hero_.

Children began to flood the square again, slop buckets freshly filled with things to throw at Merlin. Apologetically, Merlin cocked his head to face Gwen more fully.

“Uh, excuse me Guinevere, my adoring public is back.”

**** 

“Would you like some Vegetables with that?” Gaius asked some time later as he set a bowl of freshly cut lettuce down next to Merlin’s seat at the table. He chuckled to himself quietly upon seeing the sour expression Merlin threw it, and him.

“Look, I know you’re still angry with me –“

Sighing, Gaius sat down, fingers steepled in front of him. He cut Merlin’s apology short before the boy could become unnecessarily worked up, something Gaius was quickly learning Merlin was prone to do. “Iseldir asked me to look after you, that’s rather hard to do with you angering the Prince of Camelot.”

“I didn’t mean to do it, but he was –“

“It does not matter what he was doing, it matters how you went about solving the problem” Gaius chastised, eyes boring disappointedly into Merlin’s.

Merlin dropped his head in defeat. He knew he shouldn’t have done it, had been beating himself up over it since the words had left his mouth.  “I got angry, and I said something I shouldn’t have. Then _he_ got angry and physically violent.”

There was a long silence before Gaius continued “What has Iseldir told you of your Gifts?”

“That I’m ‘special’ and will one day be the leader of our people, as well as the protector of the Once-and-Future-King. Why?”

“Well, magic always requires incantations Merlin, the fact you can wield it without them is extraordinary. And impossible. You are the likes of which the world has never seen before, and you are also, as Iseldir has said, the leader of our people. One day you will need to make decisions based on your own rationality, the ability to stay calm even when others are doing their best to make you angry. Your grasp on magic is greater already than anything I could teach you, so think of this time in Camelot as a way to learn better control of your emotions, a time to focus inward and truly discover who you are.”

Merlin’s ears perked up, catching on to Gaius’ brief slip. “You said ‘our people’, are you a Druid? Did you ever study Magik?”

Unknowingly, Gaius let his eyes flash towards the door, a bout of irrational fear spiking through him. “That is a discussion for a later day. Finish your soup. When you’re done I need you to take a preparation to Lady Helen, she needs it for her voice.”

 Merlin glumly returned to the last few mouthfuls of his soup, not particularly interested in seeing, let alone consuming, food after the day’s events. Still, he took the last mouthful of soup and forced himself to eat it – there were many people in the Five Kingdoms who were not lucky enough to have even this meager food.

Gaius smiled at him tightly, patting his shoulder as he handed the potion for Lady Helen to his young charge.

“You will find your place in Camelot Merlin, just give it time. And patience. And maybe a level head… for both our sakes.”

Merlin couldn’t help but chuckle as he closed the door behind him.

Lady Helen was being housed on the opposite side of the Castle, in the royal family’s guest wing. The walk was not a long one, and Merlin found himself knocking on her door in what felt like a blink of an eye. When he had waited a courteous amount of time without receiving an answer, he tried the doorknob finding it to be unlocked.

Other than the nearly imperceptible sound of mice scratching at the wall, Lady Helen’s room was void of life when Merlin entered. It was a rather well kept room, lit cozily by a fire and warm because of it - it was brighter and more colorful than his, having been furnished in brilliant burnt golds, reminding Merlin with a pang of the sun setting over the trees. There was a table off to one side where Lady Helen had set her brush and several other potion jars. Thinking this spot made the most sense, Merlin placed the potion there.

He was turning to leave the room when his eyes landed on a bit of straw peeking out from under a stack of other miscellaneous items. In the Druid camp, in the middle of the forest, this phenomenon would have given Merlin no reason for pause. Here, however, among the high class extravagance that was the nobility of the court at Camelot, he could think of no reason for straw to be inside.

He took a step forward, and peered closer at the straw bundle. It was as he suspected.

Usually, Merlin wasn’t one to pry into the affairs of others, but when someone was rather poorly hiding a spell doll, he found he lost all qualms against it.

Picking up the straw figure, he let his Magik play over it; by entangling his own Magik with the doll’s natural Magikal signature, Merlin would be able to pull out the strands that felt ‘peculiar’ – not right.

It had been used – recently. However, not recently enough – the Magikal signature was already decaying, leaving Merlin with no idea what spell had been used. Merlin stared at the doll in confusion. Was this used on Lady Helen? Was it used _by_ Lady Helen?

A throat cleared behind him. “What are you doing in here?”

Merlin froze, quickly stuffing the doll back into its hiding place. Ever so slowly, he turned to face the imposing woman, willing his heart to stop the crescendo pace it had begun in his chest. Her nostrils were flared in annoyance, eyes hard and jaw set, anger radiating off her in waves.

She felt... wrong. Whether they had Magik or not every person had a sort of Magikal signature, those without Magik possessing about as much of one as the average tree or flower, feeling barely any different (although there was a slight variation). Lady Helen, however, had no Magik to speak of. It was as if she was a void, Magik veering away from and around her, afraid to touch even the air she breathed.

“I – I’m just – uh –” Merlin fumbled for the potion bottle and handed it to her, bowing his head at the last second as he remembered she outranked him. He kept his head low as he shuffled briskly out the door, breaking into a short run once he was sure she wouldn’t be able to hear.

It took a long while for his heart to return to a normal tempo, his breathing labored, a stitch engulfing his left side. 

What was happening?

He started walking again as though in a trance, mind too preoccupied by Lady Helen’s lack of Magik to take notice of where he was going. All Merlin knew was he needed out: out of the constricting stone building, out into fresh air and nature, out into _life_ and _Magik_. 

His feet were carrying him through the market, their destination still unclear to him (though, if he had to hazard a guess, he might say they were leading him to the forest) when he heard it.

“How’s your knee walking coming?”

Prince Arthur was standing a little ways in front of him, surrounding by his group of Knights. Merlin’s steps faltered briefly, uncertainty waring in his mind. Although he wanted to confront the blond prat, he knew, were he to do so, both Iseldir and Gaius would be disappointed in him. In the end, his wish for their approval won, and, squaring his shoulders with head held high, Merlin continued walking.

“Come on, don’t run away!” Arthur shouted a bit louder this time, still garnering no reaction from Merlin: he had promised himself he wouldn’t lose his temper, and he was going to keep to that.

Growing annoyed, Arthur tried one final tactic. “Are you deaf as well as dumb?”

Merlin stopped walking, jaw clenching in anger as he made to bite out a retort. Iseldir’s parting words floated through his mind and he snapped his mouth firmly closed. Calling Arthur an ass definitely did not count as “living every day with the utmost kindness for others”.

Merlin scuffed his toe into the dirt – several days away, and Iseldir was still managing to make him do the right thing.

With a put upon sigh, Merlin turned to face his antagonist, his next words tasting worse than Gaius’ morning porridge.

“I’m sorry.”

Arthur’s mouth opened for a split second, before closing again, shock briefly evident in his blue eyes. “For what?” he implored, obviously digging for a specific answer.

“For calling you an ass.” He was being nice, not a doormat.

The market fell into scared silence, people beginning to back away from the commotion.

“And what else are you sorry for?” There was a prevalent tick in Arthur’s jaw as he took a menacing step forward.

Merlin grew genuinely confused – he only remembered committing the one offence that day. “Excuse me?”

Arthur stepped forward again, coming to stand directly in front of Merlin, arms crossed. “I believe I am owed two apologies. You did attack me.”

“Attack you!” Merlin burst out, all thoughts of keeping his calm – of proving he was worthy of the trust his people had in him, that Gaius and Iseldir had in him – flying out of his head. “Look I already apologized for calling you an ass. That’s me done with: _you_ knocked _me_ over, so if anyone here should be apologizing for that, your Royal Pratness, it’s you!”

“You can’t address me like that” Arthur huffed, incensed that anyone would talk back to him in such a way. Who was this boy?

“Forgive me, would calling you a ‘puffed up peacock’ make you feel better?” Merlin was unprepared for the fist that swung at his face, barely managing to dodge it just in time.

“HEY! I don’t think violence –“ He dodged another punch, crawling under the nearby Herbalists table. Merlin knew he was entirely unprepared for this fight, not having been taught anything about the ways of physical fighting (or fighting in general). He was also sure he had zero seconds to figure out how to win: Arthur had just leapt over the table. Instinctually his Magik grabbed a close-by box and shoved it into Arthur’s path, giving Merlin time to run away. Punching was out of the question, that would hurt about as much as a fly, and kicking would probably make Merlin fall over. He turned around to face Arthur – to plead for this to end or to taunt him another time, Merlin had no idea – just as a fist connected with his face. In the gathering crowd Merlin could see Gaius’ disappointed visage staring at him, before he turned his back, and walked away.

Arthur walked up to Merlin as two knights hauled him into shackles (again, for the second day in a row).

“Wait, let him go. He may be an idiot, but he’s a brave one.” Arthur looked Merlin over briefly, trying to figure out what exactly had made him stand out as special, made Arthur want to pick him out of the crowd of hundreds in the Market place. “There’s something about you Merlin. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

As Arthur saw it, the boy seemed perfectly ordinary: overly tall, and ghastly thin (as if he had grown a foot overnight, and hadn’t eaten a morsel since), with hair, cropped both too short and too long at the same time, doing nothing to hide the over-large ears that stuck out on either side of his of his head. His cheekbones were incredible, jutting from his cheeks so sharply Arthur was almost afraid they would cut his skin clean in two. His eyes, however, his eyes were something else. Whereas his other features served to make Merlin look almost plain, his eyes made him look ethereal, other worldly: they were large, and of the brightest blue Arthur had ever seen, highly expressive, and currently defiantly gazing straight at Arthur.

Arthur stepped back, clearing his throat “Right. If I catch you being a disturbance again, I won’t be as lenient.” His eyes flicked over Merlin one last time, before he turned on his heel and was gone, the rest of the Knights with him.

Merlin couldn’t help but feel as though something monumental had just occurred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently testing out how I like the flow of splitting up previous chapters into smaller ones.


	4. The Dragon's Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, I still don't own Merlin. However, I am now the proud owner of three textbooks, and several thousand dollars in tuition fees for this year.

Merlin

That night the Voice returns to me again, its deep “Merlin” waking me from an already fitful sleep.

“Merlin.”

 _“Who are you?”_ I ask again, a large part of me expecting no reply.

“Merlin?”

 _“Where are you?”_ I try this time, beginning to realize the Voice has no aversion to me talking to it, just to my initial question. A fuzzy image appears in my head, corridors leading to more corridors, leading to guards leading to stairs. I throw on a jacket, and leave my room.

The Guards pose a problem, and I am loath to use magic (especially after the speech Gaius gave me when I got back from the Market), but seeing no other option, I spell the dice the Guards are playing with (really, what sort of guards aren’t even paying attention?) to fly in the opposite direction I need to go in.

There is a stone archway, not far into the corridor, and I stop, unsure of where to go next .

“MERLIN.” the Voice calls, louder now than it has ever been. This must be it. Grabbing the nearest torch, I descend down the steps hidden there, fallowing them until they end at a doorway. It is cracked, and older than any I have seen thus far, slime and mold growing across its surface. It hangs partially open, and I enter into the room hidden behind.

Or the not room.

Behind the door is a vast cavern so tall, so long, so wide, and so deep, I can see none of its dimensions. The Voice gives a deep chuckle that sounds around the entire chamber, bouncing off every rock surface.

“Where are you?” I shout, squinting to see through the dark, the torch I’m holding doing little to light much past the landing I am standing on. And then I hear it, the sound of a thousand birds flapping together as they take off, and suddenly I am face to face with a Dragon.

Yes, that’s right folks, a living, breathing, Dragon. Being kept, here, right under Camelot. Because doesn’t that sound like a good idea?

“I’m here. How small you are for such a great destiny.”

The Dragon seems to be smiling (Can I call it a smile? Do reptiles even have that capability?), his very sharp Merlin-Eating teeth gleaming softly in the low light. So much for not getting eaten alive. It takes a second for what he said to sink in; I have many destinies - protector, Druid leader - and no idea to what he is referring, neither one is meant to be ‘great’.

“What do you mean? Which destiny?”

“Are they very different? Ruler of Vala, Protector of Albion and her High King, I see no difference.” The dragon said, dismissively.

There was that word again, that name: Vala. “You are the second person to mention this Vala to me. What is it?”

The dragon laughed, condescendingly. “Why, your kingdom of course. The place where those with Magik fled for safety.”

My kingdom? Ruler, he had said _Ruler,_ of Vala, but as far as I know I’m the leader of the Druids. That’s it, leave it at that. How could I be the ruler of a Kingdom no-one had ever mentioned to me before? And how could I possibly be expected to rule, while tied to the Once-and-Future-King’s Kingdom, protecting him?

“How come I’ve never heard of it before now?” I counter, hoping to catch him in a lie, though a small part of me (sounding suspiciously like Gaius) is whispering there is no way he could be lying.

“As I said, your destinies are one in the same.”

What is that supposed to mean? They sound pretty damn different to me.

“So, I’m meant to rule this kingdom that I’ve never heard of before? How does that possibly coincide with searching Albion for the Once-and-Future-King, so that I may protect him?”

The dragon blinks, before tilting his head. “Arthur is the Once-and-Future-King who will unite the land of Albion.” He states it matter-of-factly, as though I am an idiot for not knowing this already.

“Right” I laugh; absolutely sure he’s joking. Arthur? High King of Albion? The dragon stares at me, not saying anything. “No. No, You’ve got this wrong.”

“There is no right or wrong, only what is and what isn’t.” The dragon quips, cryptically. I’m beginning to grow tired of this mystic Wise-Old-Dragon crap.

“I’m serious.” I deadpan.

“None of us can choose our destiny, Merlin. And none of us can escape it.” The last part is said ominously, and suddenly, I’m sure things are not going to end well. I mean, how could they, with Arthur in charge?

“No. No way. NO. No, there must be another Arthur, because this one’s an idiot.”

“Perhaps it’s your destiny to change that.”  I don’t like the sound of that. Everything I have been told my whole life, has been centered around ‘find the King, protect the King’, not ‘raise the King into a man actually worthy of being King’. Arthur is older than me for goodness sake!

With his final piece of advice apparently given, the dragon takes off, flying into the black of the cavern. “Wait –WAIT! Wait, stop! I have so many questions, I need to know more!” The Dragon only laughs.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    Merlin

The day of the closing Feast my errands are light, consisting only of a run by Lady Morgana’s chambers. Every person of able body is expected to help with tonight’s preparations, and, once I have completed my morning errand, my afternoon is going to be packed running to and fro, helping different servants complete their assigned tasks.

The Lady Morgana’s Chambers are not difficult to find, one massive door along a hallway of other such massive doorways. I enter the room and hesitantly look around, just as a tall imposing woman disappears behind a changing screen.

“You know; I’ve been thinking about Arthur.”

I shouldn’t be here. I should not be here. This is all kinds of improper – a man in a Lady’s room while she’s changing? I could lose my head for this, forget Magik. I turn to leave, intent on beating a hasty retreat when something catches my notice: a slight tickle on my magic. I freeze. Could it be? No. But there it is again, the slightest brush, of tentative, untrained, and uncontrolled Magik. The Lady Morgana, Uther Pendragon’s ward, is a witch.

“Well, does it?”

I’m sad to say, at this moment, I panic a little. So preoccupied was I with her Magik, I had forgotten to listen to what she was saying (something about not liking Arthur, which I can agree with), so, to be safe, I pitch my voice into a passable example of feminine, and make a noise that could be considered both agreeable and disagreeable.

“If he wants me to go, then he should invite me, and he hasn’t.” It seems to have worked, as she continues on with her previous topic. She must not be in conscious control of her Magik, or it would have given me away minutes ago. I turn to leave again, but am cut off by another question. Boy, I must have really pissed off some deity.

“So do you know what that means?” I make the noise again, hunching over so she can’t see me over the screen, and slowly creep towards the doorway.

“Where are you?”

So, maybe she hasn’t been buying this as much as I thought. I pitch my voice a little higher, grab the nearest article of clothing, and hold it in front of myself (really, I can’t believe I’ve been reduced to hiding behind women’s clothing), just as she turns around. “Here.”

“It means I’m going by myself.” Good for her, she shouldn’t need someone to take her to the feast. I drop the dress, and make a bolt for the door, just as she starts talking again.

“I need some help with this fastening?” No, nope, no way.

“Gwen?”

And just as I think I’m about to pass out from the sheer weight of my panic, Gwen walks in the door. “I’m here.”

She looks at me suspiciously, and I quickly mouth the events of the past few minutes to her, backing towards the door the whole time. Her eyes fill with mirth and, patting my shoulder consolingly, she pushes me out the door, closing it behind her with a resolute thud.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The Great Hall had transformed, and, had he not been part of the transformation, Merlin would have said it was done by magic. Just hours before the rectangular room had been empty except for Uther’s throne - dark and cold, devoid of light and life. Now however, it stood packed to the brim with people and tables and candles, bright and cheery, light strains of music floating down from the Minstrels Gallery. All around him people were laughing and talking, eating and congregating around their friends. Servants, carrying large platters of food, navigated their way to tables through the treacherous crowds.

Off to one side stood Prince Arthur and his group of young Knights, uproariously laughing, as Arthur reenacted the final blow that had ended their fight the day before. Merlin blushed to his ears, bright red spreading in a wave from his cheeks as Arthur caught his eye, head thrown back in a laugh, blue eyes sparkling. He froze then, and whispered something, staring past Merlin.

Entering the Great Hall was Lady Morgana. She wore a dark dress that revealed much of her skin, causing many a man’s – a few of them married, Merlin noted - eyes to follow her in her journey towards the front. Her Magik was happily wrapped around her, reds and indigos swirling in lazy patterns through the air. Gaius sighed loudly beside him, and then thwacked him sharply upside the head.

“Merlin, remember, you’re here to work.”

Merlin pulled himself away from the trance he had fallen into: he hadn’t realized how much he missed watching another’s Magik as it danced through the air “What? Oh, aye.”

Gaius sighed again and shook his head before walking off. Merlin found his eyes inexorably drawn back to Morgana’s magic. It was young - she was just coming into her power, that much was certain. The next few years were going to be interesting for her, and for Camelot.

Gwen stepped up behind the preoccupied Merlin. “She looks great, doesn’t she?”

He jumped slightly at her sudden appearance, giving Morgana’s outfit a once over. The dark dress attached at the neck, leaving her shoulders and arms completely bare, coming down as a form hugging blood red. Gwen’s choice of putting Morgana’s hair up, left her long neck open and elongated, the addition of the circlet serving to make her look regal, and every bit a Queen. “Yeah” Merlin agreed, she was definitely gorgeous.

Gwen smiled softly, “Some people are just born to be Queen.”

Merlin nearly choked on the drink he had just taken, “No!”. Unless Camelot made some drastic changes to its Laws, Morgana becoming Queen was a sure death sentence.

Gwen paused for a second, affronted by the lack of support from her friend. “I hope so... One day.” She paused again, thinking over the absolute horror that had crossed Merlin’s face “Not that I’d want to be her, who’d want to marry Arthur?”. Merlin started laughing, remembering a certain conversation they had a few days prior.

“Come one Gwen, I thought you liked those real, rough, tough, save-the-world kind of men.”

“No, I like much more ordinary men like you.” She was blushing now; she could feel it. Why had she mentioned this at all?

 _“Trust me,_ I’m not ordinary _”_ Merlin mumbled dryly. Being a Warlock, Emrys, and on the verge of being King - currently undercover as a Physician’s Assistant – certainly did not lend him to anything one could call _ordinary_.

If ever there was a moment Gwen had felt more embarrassed than this, she was finding it hard to remember. **_“_** NO, I didn’t mean you, obviously, not you. But just, you know, I like much more ordinary men… **_like_** you.” She turned away from him, wondering how hard she would need to hit herself with the jug she was carrying, to forget this conversation.

Merlin watched her for a second before deciding he should put her out of her misery. “Thanks… I think.”

The two were saved from any farther awkward attempts at conversation, by the two guards at the entrance, who began to bugle the King's arrival. The assembled Nobility floated to their seats, leaving a long aisle in-between the two parallel tables. Uther appeared in the doorway to a thunderous round of applause, making his way to the head table, smiling and nodding at those he passed. When he made it to his destination, he paused for a second, before turning back around to face the room at large.

“We have enjoyed twenty years of peace and prosperity. It has brought the Kingdom, and myself, many pleasures. But few can compare with the honor of introducing Lady Helen of Mora.”

While he had been talking, a stage was brought out and placed in the entrance, on which Lady Helen now stood. She was resplendent in her gold dress, sharp eyes scanning those gathered in the room, before giving a graceful nod for the Minstrels to begin. It was a haunting Melody, full of awkward intervals and large jumps, beautiful but also slightly soporific. Lady Helen moved off the platform, raising her arms, slowly gliding towards the raised table housing the Royal Family. As she passed them, people began to fall asleep, the candles blowing out and cobwebs growing over the tables.

Merlin glanced around at the slumbering guests and slammed his hands over his ears, whispering a spell to block all noise. Lady Helen was mere steps from the raised High-table now, slowly pulling out a knife, the song hitting a crescendo in both noise and pitch. She passed under the heavy Chandelier, giving Merlin an idea. He focused his Magik on the old bolts straining to hold the heavy object in the ceiling, and convinced them they no longer wanted to do so.

The Chandelier fell, knocking over the witch.

Slowly the Hall began to wake, pulling immense cobwebs off their faces and clothing.  Uther flew to his feet, inhaling sharply as he saw the Chandelier laying on the ground. Lady Helen had transformed from the young raven haired beauty of moments before, into the old Hag Merlin had seen upon first entering Camelot. Suddenly the women moved, grabbing for the knife and throwing it. It shot through the air, headed straight for a just standing Arthur.

Merlin was moving before he had a moment to think, time itself crawling to a stop. He bolted down the hall, and knocked Arthur out of the course of the knife, time zooming back to full speed. The knife thunked harmlessly into Arthur’s now empty seat, drawing a scream from the waiting Nobles. Merlin sat up, and looked down at the stunned Prince.

“Are you alright?” He asked, voice shaking from the rush of adrenalin. A hand grabbed his shirt hauling him up - its match doing the same for Arthur - and then Merlin was standing face to face with the Magik hating King.

Uther was staring at Merlin incredulously. “You saved my boy’s life. A debt must be repaid.”

“Um, you really don’t have to -” Merlin couldn’t believe his luck; apparently, the King wasn’t going to question how Merlin had managed to get halfway across the hall before the Knife. Either that, or he didn’t care when it was his son’s life at stake.

“Don’t be so modest.” Uther had never heard of someone turning down a Royal reward before, and he wasn’t about to be made a fool in front of hundreds of his loyal – and not so loyal – subjects.

“No honestly, I feel I must decline.” Taking a reward for what would surely have killed any other, churned Merlin’s stomach, making him uneasy.

Uther took a deep breath, and continued on, not to be outdone by a boy several years younger than his own son. He had an idea in mind: If the boy was so ready to give his life when he wasn’t being paid, put him into Arthur’s service, and he had a ready-made human shield. “No, absolutely not. This merits something quite special.”

“Well...” Merlin glanced up at Uther, whose jaw was ticking, vein sticking out of his temple; maybe goading him this way, wasn’t best. Triumphant, Uther raised his voice, letting it ring through the hall, so all could bask in his kindness - “You shall be awarded a position in the Royal Household. You shall be Prince Arthur’s Manservant.”

Merlin’s eyes widened and he took a step back, just as Arthur voiced his displeasure. “Father!”.

It didn’t look as though Merlin would be leaving Camelot any time soon. He glanced at Arthur, he would need to watch his use of Magik even closer now: things just got even more dangerous.

 

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Gaius and Merlin didn’t get back to their chambers until late that night, everyone wanted a chance to talk to the man who had saved Arthur. Gaius assured him the hullabaloo would soon die down, and he would go back to being unobtrusive. Merlin hoped he was right; this attention was dangerous.

Thankfully, Merlin had managed to stop Lady Helen (if that had even been her) and her attempt on Arthur’s life. He worried, however, that one failed attempt would not stop these Radicalists (or, at least, he hoped they were Radicalists), and that this was only their first attempt of many. Merlin eyed Gaius, who was currently poking through stacks of books on the balcony, wondering if he should tell him, if he could trust that Gaius’ allegiance lay with him and the path of peace. He barely knew Gaius, had met him less than a week ago, and feared there was precious little trust to build upon yet. He was resolved: he needed to find a way to contact the Druids, and fast.

Gaius walked back down into the main part of their chamber carrying a book covered in an old red cloth. He stopped in front of Merlin, holding out his precious bundle. “This book was given to me when I was your age. But I have a feeling it will be of more use to you, Emrys, than it was to me.”

The use of his Title and Druidic name did not escape Merlin, as he carefully pulled the cloth off the worn leather. In his hands lay an ancient book on Magik and the Old Religion - something Merlin didn’t think existed anymore: rumors said they had all been destroyed in the Great Purge. “But this is a book of Magik.”

Gaius smiled softly at the look of pure joy lighting up his young charge’s face. He had seen so few smiles since Merlin arrived here, and now he knew why. “Which is why you must keep it hidden.”

“I will study every word” Merlin promised, his cheeks starting to hurt from the action they had grown unaccustomed to. Preparing yourself for a life completely unlike the one you live - where you can’t be yourself, talk about yourself, practice your customs, or see your people - and actually living it, are two very different things. Merlin found himself ill prepared for just how much he missed his daily Magik lessons, and the overwhelming presence it had held in his life, up until the week before.

Someone knocked on the door, and Merlin’s head shot up, sure that the moment he was finally happy, would also be the moment he was caught. However, the Guard only called his message through the door, before walking back down the stairs. “Merlin? Prince Arthur wants you right away.”

Gaius turned back to him, gently taking the book from his hands “Your destiny is calling. You’d better find out what he wants”.

 

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Arthur

The Guard turns and leaves my chambers, my message now on its way to Merlin. Merlin, the overly tall boy who isn’t afraid to back talk me, or turn down my father’s reward. Merlin, who can look a King in the eye without pause, while also humbly stopping to help a lowly servant pick up her washing. Merlin, the enigma.

When I was younger, I had a Nanny who would tell me stories. My favorite being the tale of the Queen who sat in the snow watching her Raven take flight, wishing for a child. As the story goes, the raven landed on her hand, accidentally scratching her, a drop of blood falling to the snow below. Later, the Queen falls pregnant, and her child comes to bear skin the color of snow, hair the color of raven’s wings, and lips the color of that single drop of blood. Idly I wonder if Merlin might be the child in this tale. I didn’t get to hear it often, as one-day father heard her - that day she was telling a grand tale of a King who would one-day unite Albion with the snow child at his side - and had her banished. Turns out she was a Druid, and was telling me Druidic fairytales.

It is undeniable that there is something about Merlin. Among any crowd he sticks out (and not just because his height, seriously, what does that boy eat?), a secret energy buzzes just underneath his skin. Unlike other servants, who lower their eyes and have constantly hunched shoulders, Merlin stands straight, with every movement screaming power and purpose, in an almost aborted way, as if Merlin suddenly remembers, ‘oh, I have to be clumsy now’.

There is definitely something about him, and I _will_ figure it out. I just need time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Behind The Scenes: Vala's Emrys, Albion's King" is officially posted, and the chapter pertaining to the first episode will be up on Wednesday (aprox.).
> 
> Constructive criticism, kudos, comments in general make the writer's world go round. Don't be shy! 
> 
> As ever, I hope your day is treating you the best it ever could,  
> AncientBookLover


	5. Valiant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing (though you should see my pantry, I'm impressed with how full it is); Merlin is the property of BBC.  
> This is currently Un-Beta read. Sorry!

Merlin

The Melee, is a rather violent, useless, and unneeded pastime. I hadn’t been in Camelot more than a day as Arthur’s manservant, before I came to this conclusion. Nothing that involves beating a man for hours upside the head with a lethal weapon, _for fun_ , can be good news. It just can’t. And nothing that brings hundreds of foreign, highly trained, knights into Camelot, for the sake of such violence, can be good news either.

So, all in all, it’s safe to say I am very against the tournament Camelot is currently hosting.

I spend my first morning as the Prince’s manservant being quite thoroughly beaten by a rather frustrated Arthur; in a last ditch attempt to create a ‘more complex training session’, Arthur has me dressed in Armor acting as a live target. However, instead of the workout I know he had hoped it to be, its turned into more of a ‘Merlin tries not to curl into a fetal position to cry’ session. The more I fail to block his blows, the angrier he seems to get, each on landing harder, with more and more painful accuracy. He calls a halt to training roughly an hour after it starts, jaw ticking in frustration as he chucks his armor at me. His voice is strained as he rattles of my list of duties for today, and I can feel my mouth slowly dropping open. He can’t truly expect all of this to be done by tomorrow?

The trek back to Gaius’ is long and arduous, my arms feeling like led, as I struggle to keep a-hold of his armor as well as my own. The chambers appear to be empty when I enter, and, momentarily uncaring if I shall be punished, I drop Arthur’s Armor to the flagstones below. They make a loud clanging sound that reverberates around the cavernous chamber, filling it with noise, each piece bouncing in a different direction. A sick sense of joy floods through me at my small rebellion: He’ll never know.

I slump into my seat at the table, readying myself to begin my first task of the day (learning the etiquette required of a royal manservant at the tournament) when I realize I may have a problem - I can’t feel my arms. I can’t feel my arms, and the book I need (on proper tournament etiquette, Armor installation, and the like) is sitting on the opposite side of the table. With my last dredges of energy, I call the book to me, watching it zoom across the wooden surface and open to the page I need, a fold out diagram covered in Armor popping out. This thing this several feet long! How can I possibly be expected to learn it by tomorrow?

“OI! What have I told you about using Magik like this?” Startled, I look behind me, to where Gaius is just stepping off the last rung of the balcony stairs (I really should start looking up there).

I huff slightly, not in the mood for a lecture, “If I could actually feel my arms, I’d pick up the book myself”. Excuse me for wanting a few creature comforts after the awful day I’ve had. Gaius steps forwards, holding his hand out impatiently. Confused, I give him my hand, and he sighs, exasperation evident on his face. Slowly, with the practiced ease of one does this often, He starts stretching the weak overused muscles of my arm.

“Never mind your arms, what do I do if you get caught?” I pause in my reading, caught off guard by Gaius’ admonition.

“What would you do?” I turn slightly in my seat, staring up at his wizened face. He stares back for a brief second, mouth working, but no sound coming out.  

“Well, you just make sure it doesn’t happen for both our sakes.” He has turned his face away slightly, and I’m not sure if it’s because he won’t look at me, or can’t. It is a sharp reminder that although friends I may have, in Camelot I have no allies. He gives a particularly vicious tug, my shoulder popping loudly in the silence his statement had created.

“Ah! I save Arthur from being killed, and I end up as a servant, how is that fair?” In what world is tying someone into near slavery considered a reward? There is absolutely nothing rewarding about emptying out Prince Arthur’s Chamber Pot.

Gaius latches on to my poor attempt at a conversation change, like a dehydrated man to water. “I’m not sure fairness comes into it. You never know, it might be fun.”

“You think mucking out Arthur’s horses is going to be fun? You should see my list of duties - You know, I have been trained in the art of Diplomacy, know how to hold my own against a king in any political situation, can speak two languages, read and write in three, I unofficially took the title of chieftain of my encampment over a year ago, and have since created, and implemented, a plan to keep my people safe from those who want to kill us; the death rate has dropped nearly in half over the last year. Yet here I am, mucking out stables, shining Armor, scrubbing floors, exercising dogs and _cleaning chamber pots._ In no world is any of this considered fun.”

Gaius sighs, coming to sit next me, a hand on my shoulder. “We all have our duties, even Arthur.”

I try not to scoff, but I’ve seen what his day consists of: Girls and Glory. “You think I don’t know that? Out of everyone here, except maybe Uther, I know best what Arthur’s duties are like.” I can’t stop the sarcasm that leaks into my tone. “It must be so hard for him.”

“He is a future King; people expect much of him. He’s under a lot of Pressure. As you said, you, of anyone, should know just how difficult Arthur’s life really is.” He is staring at me in that ‘Merlin you want to do what’s right’ sort of way, the one I’ve come to learn can quickly be followed by his infamous disappointed eyebrow scrunch.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like him, or being his servant.” I grouch, embarrassingly like a child.

 

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The day of the Tournament dawned bright and hot, sun scorching down onto the hundreds of tents now littering the Citadel’s vast yard. Merlin found himself sweating profusely, fingers slipping off the small ties of Arthur’s armor. He glanced up at the sun, wishing he could solely blame it for his current state, but he knew most of the sweat came from nerves: he was actually nervous for the Prat!

A smooth, slightly annoyed, baritone interrupted his inner monologue, calming him, yet at the same time, irritating him. “You do know the Tournament starts today.”

Merlin glanced up from where he had been trying to tie Arthur’s rather stubborn right Vambrance. “Yes sire.” He tried to laugh off how uncomfortable he was at the moment. “Are you nervous?” Finally having finished putting on the last of Arthur’s Armor, Merlin moved to smoothing out his chainmail, curious for his answer. Arthur had been oddly silent today, not speaking unless asked a question that needed answering.

Arthur looked down at his arm, seeing the ties had been done backwards, and rolled his eyes. “I don’t get nervous.”  He didn’t let himself get nervous. Nerves led to second guessing, and second guessing led to mistakes and slow decision making: both of which could get you killed on the battle field.

Merlin paused to look at Arthur surprised. “Really? I thought everyone got nervous.” He had certainly been nervous several times throughout his life – during his first Magik lesson, when Iseldir told him it was time he took a more active role as Leader, and when he had to leave for Camelot. He felt they were all perfectly valid times to be nervous, maybe even scared, and now seemed like another such time: Tournaments were dangerous, it wasn’t unheard of for Knight to die.

“Will. You. SHUT. UP!” Arthur could not take anymore; he had reached his limit. Merlin had been nattering on about this, that, and the other thing since he had woken him up that morning, barely pausing to breath. He whipped around to give the young boy a piece of his mind, only to be faced with rather large, startled, and hurt eyes. He blinked, and the look was gone, his bumbling over-happy manservant back in place. 

Merlin quickly grabbed Arthur’s cloak, wrapping it around the man’s shoulders and tying it on, trying not to look at him, afraid he would only anger the man even more. He seemed to have a rather short fuse. Arthur’s Helmet was the last piece on the table, and Merlin grabbed it quickly, stuffing it into Arthur’s awaiting hand, glad that he would be done with his duties (and away from Arthur) for now. “Great, yeah, I think you’re all set.”

Arthur huffed, cursing his father for giving him the most idiotically stupid Manservant the world had ever known. Never in his life, had Arthur needed to check his servant was putting his cloak on right side out, but when Merlin couldn’t find the closer, he had been sure that was the case (it wasn’t, thank god). He had also never had a servant forget his sword, the most important part of his armor. He waited for a second, pointedly staring at Merlin, hoping the young boy would catch his mistake, when he didn’t Arthur figured a gentle reminder might be enough to jog his memory.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Merlin gave Arthur a quick once over: Gambeson - check -, Hauberk - check -, Mail Coif – check -, Vambrances - check -, Couter, Spaulder, and Pauldron – check, check, and check – Gardbrace - check -, G-- “My sword.”

Merlin wanted to hit himself in the head. “Oh yeah. Yeah, sorry. You’ll be needing that.” He rushed over to the sword stand, and drew out Arthur’s before handing it to the fuming Prince. Arthur tore it from his hands, turned on his heels and stalked towards the Arena, grumbling under his breath.

“Well, that went well.” Merlin mumbled to himself, giving the Prince a head start onto the field. The crowd began to shout, the thumping of the drums coming to an abrupt halt. Arthur had the first fight today, as reigning champion, and would need all his supplies for the rest of the day laid out, meaning Merlin would have to miss the opening ceremonies.

 

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Merlin

Arthur rose quickly through the ranks of foreign Knights, winning fight after fight. I do have to admit, Arthur in combat is a sight to behold; all signs of the overly cocky man I know, disappear, replaced by single minded focus on his opponents and surroundings. He doesn’t add extra embellishments as many knights do, leaving themselves open for attack, instead he goes right in for the kill strikes, hitting hard and hitting fast. His fights are the shortest of the day, seconded only by one (a close second mind you): Knight Valiant. Knight Valiant is new to this tournament, one of the few who have never attended before. He fights in an aggressive style, using a battering ram of heavy attacks in quick succession to put his opponent on the defensive, and tire them out.

Arthur has just finished when I have my first encounter with the yellow clad knight.

“Knight Valiant seems pretty handy with a sword” from my vantage point behind Arthur, as I take off his Armor, I can just see into the Arena where Valiant has shoved another Knight into the dirt, winning his bout. I look at Arthur, gauging his reaction, curious to see if he thinks Valiant will be any sort of threat to his standing as reigning champion. Arthur makes a noncommittal sound, gazing at Valiant with a creased brow as he walks off the field.

Valiant reaches his tent slightly out of breath, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. He turns around about to snap at his serving boy, before noticing Arthur and I at the tent adjacent. He puts on a winning smile, and bows slightly to the prince.

“May I offer you my congratulations on your victories today?”

Arthur pauses for a second, eyeing Valiant warily “Likewise”. I know he is trying to come across as amiable, friendly, but his voice is strained, eyes wary. Valiant doesn’t seem to care, his smile upping in intensity. He glances at me briefly, his gaze heavy and uncomfortable, before his eyes flick back to Arthur.

“I hope to see you at the reception this evening.” He smiles again, giving a mockery of a bow in Arthur’s general direction, eyes once again on me. When he stands to leave, his smile has lost all joviality, looking more sinister than welcoming.

“Creep.” If Arthur hadn’t started laughing, I doubt I would have I noticed I said this out loud. Startled, I glance at the merry Prince, letting his infectious laughter wash over me. Unbidden, I feel myself begin to smile, just as Arthur glances over and completely closes off. It hurt slightly, but I understand: as the Prince of Camelot he can’t be seen sharing jokes with a peasant, it makes him too normal, too approachable, or some other such hogwash. He shoves the last of his armor at me, jamming it into my stomach, before rattling off another impossibly long list of chores, all to be done before tomorrow.

There goes my plans for this evening.

 

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Merlin

I might, or mightn't, have used Magik to make the chores go faster. What can I say? Gaius’ Magik book is far more fascinating than polishing a sword ever could be.

 

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Even with the Magikal aid, Merlin still didn’t finish his duties until well after the sun went down and the candles and torches had been lit by the Cottar. The Armory was empty at this time of night, and due to the lack of fireplace, freezing cold. His breath rushed out in great white clouds in front of him, as he set about finding the last few pieces of Arthur’s armor that he needed to clean for the night. The Armorer said he had left them on the table, but it took Merlin only seconds to realize he had a problem: there was far more than one table.

A soft noise behind him ripped him from his search, his head jerking around so fast he feared he would fall over. He waited for a few seconds, listening for the odd noise, but, upon hearing nothing, turned back to the table in front of him, just as the noise sounded again. Abandoning his search, Merlin turned fully in the direction of the sound, straining his eyes in the near darkness for any sign of life other than himself. A red eye blinked.

In front of him sat Knight Valiant’s shield, propped in a pile of other foreign shields.  Merlin stepped forward, stopping to crouch in front of the green and white object, just as one of the snakes blinked again. It took everything in his will-power to stop himself from falling over. A Magik shield? Why would someone bring a Magik shield to Camelot? Merlin reached within himself and grasped his Magik, entangling it with the Magik of the shield. Or, at least, he tried to. Merlin’s Magik reached out and met with nothing; a large void, feeling much the same as Mary Collins (as Merlin had finally learned her name to be) had felt that day in her chambers.  

There was a loud _SSHHIICCKK_ , and Merlin found a sword inches away from his neck. He gasped, wrenching his hand away from where it had been hovering above one of the snakes. Slowly, trying to make himself look as disarming as possible, Merlin rose and stepped away from the shield, turning to look at the glowering expression of Knight Valiant.

“Can I help you with something, Boy?” The Knight took a menacing step towards Merlin, sword inching ever closer towards Merlin’s rapidly beating heart.

Instinctively, Merlin took a step back, legs knocking into the side of a table. Just out of the corner of his eye, he could see Arthur’s Vambrance about to fall off the table. “No, I’m good. I – I was just, uh – um – gathering my master’s Armor.” He dived for the Armor, catching it just as it fell. When he turned around Valiant was even closer, sword hanging at his side.

“Do you like working for him, your Master?” Valiant sneered the last word, glancing down at Merlin’s bundle of Armor, before flicking his eyes back up to stare demandingly into Merlin’s.

Merlin swallowed, finding it hard to breath around the rank air surrounding the man in front of him. “Ye – yes. He’s great. Perfect.” He wasn’t used to having someone this close to him; the Druids valued personal space as nearly sacred, only breaking it during greetings.

“Pity. I could use someone like you.” Valiant’s eyes roved over Merlin, making the boy feel sick. Abruptly, the man was gone from his space, standing next to his shield. “You’d best be on your way.”

Merlin all but ran for the door, grateful for the chance to be away from the sleazy knight. “Right, yeah. No problem. ” At some point during his mad dash for the door, he ran into a pile of Armor, but couldn’t find it in himself to stop and see who’s it was, or if he had done any damage.

 

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Merlin stared down at Ewan, eyes widening as they landed upon the two innocuous puncture wounds in his neck. It was still incredible to him that something so small, and seemingly unimportant, could be sapping one of Camelot’s best knights, of his very life. He swallowed, eyes drifting to the pallor of the knights face; as little as he wanted to return to Valiant’s rooms, the coincidence between what he had seen the night before, and – what appeared to be – a snake bite currently killing Gaius’ patient, was too hard to overlook.

That night, Merlin snuck through the castle halls, making his way towards the Knight’s Hall, where he knew Valiant’s temporary quarters to be. His door was unlocked, and left a crack open, probably not properly shut when the Page left. Holding his breath, and praying to every deity he knew of that the hinges had been freshly oiled, Merlin lightly shoved the door open a crack farther.

Inside, Valiant was just closing the lid on a small wooden box, a live rat in the other hand. He moved across the room to where his shield was propped against the wall, whispering as he went. Slowly, the shield came to life, three snakes weaving out of the interconnected design on the front, each following the hand holding the rat. Valiant chuckled harshly, before throwing the mouse at the snakes, who proceeded to fight over the small morsel. Valiant glanced away from the snakes, eyes roving past the door and hidden Merlin, who took off running away from the Knight, and towards the physician. He could hear foot steps behind him for a short while, but, for once thankful for the winding nature of Camelot, he managed to lose valiant not long after the Knight’s Hall.

Merlin burst through the door of Gaius’ chamber, startling the old man, who had been bent over Sir Ewan. “I’ve just seen the snakes in Valiant’s shield come alive.” He wheezed, by way of explanation to the confused man. “He’s using Magik.”

“Are you sure?” Gaius questioned, incredulously. It’s not that he didn’t want to believe Merlin, but it was getting late, and he had noticed Merlin’s rather strong dislike of the Knight. This was a very serious claim, and he needed to be sure.

“He fed the snakes a Rat, imaginary things don’t eat Rats.” Merlin had started pacing by this point, and took a deep breath to calm himself, focusing instead on staying still and looking at Gaius. “Look, Ewan was fighting Valiant when he collapsed. It must have been one of the snakes from the shield.” A realization hit him like a lightning bolt did a tree – “I have to tell Arthur.”

Merlin was almost to the door, before Gaius cut him off again. “Is there any chance you might be mistaken?”

“I know Magik when I see it.” Merlin scoffed; he could literally _see_ Magic. He started towards the door, only to be interrupted by Gaius a second time.

“I fear you’ll land yourself in trouble. How will you explain why you were in Valiant’s chamber?” Gaius was eying Merlin oddly now, warily, as though he thought Merlin was trying to hide something.

Merlin took a step back, hurt and confused by the slight accusation he found in Gaius’ eyes. “What does that matter? He’s using Magik to cheat in the tournament. To harm others.”

“You can’t go accusing a knight of using Magik without proof. The King would never accept the word of a servant over the word of a knight.” Gaius’ cautioned, voice turning like hardened steel.  

“Oh, so what I have to say doesn’t count for anything?” Merlin knew his tone had turned accusatory, and felt guilty at the small amount of relish he received when he noticed hurt flash though Gaius’ eyes.

“I’m afraid it counts for very little as far as the King is concerned. That’s the way it is.” This was stated matter-of-factly, with little emotion, and no sympathy. Gaius was staring at him now, as if challenging him to say something else, to go to the King or the Prince, or anyone else with his information.

“Well it shouldn’t be. Just because I have no money, and don’t wish to fight, does not mean I am any less trustworthy than a Knight, or Lord. Any system that is set up this way, is corrupt. Maybe, this is why the Druids sent me here: so I could learn how _not_ to be a Leader.” With that, Merlin stormed into his room, locking the door with a flash of his eyes. Ripping out the loose floor board, he grabbed the Magik book, intent on finding a way to save Arthur himself.

So focused, was Merlin, on his worry and fear for Arthur, he never noticed the scrap of paper fall out of the book and flutter to the ground.

 

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Arthur’s last fight before the Final was against a man so tall, his servant needed a ladder to reach his shoulders. “You’re telling me you’ve got to fight that?” Merlin paused in his work to stare at the mountain of a knight in front of him.

Arthur glanced at the knight. “Yes, and he’s strong as a bear,” A small amount of fear crept into Merlin. Just the month before, a bear had wondered into their encampment. They lost several good men that day.  “but he’s slow.”

“Ah, and you’re fast.” It took Merlin but a second to catch what Arthur had been hinting at.

The Prince raised his eyebrows in surprise, having been expecting to need to explain more in-depth, before Merlin understood. “Exactly.”

“I don’t suppose you’re nervous this time either?” Merlin asked, as he slid Arthur’s sword into the sheath hanging at his hip. Arthur grabbed his helmet and smiled, before walking onto the field. Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin saw Valiant walk out of his tent, smirking. He tried to ignore him, but it didn’t take a genius to know who the smirk was meant for. His heart sped up – did Valiant know he had seen the snakes?

Just as with the fights before, Arthur quickly and efficiently dispatched his opponent, sending the crowd to their feet, screaming his name. Merlin smiled, it was good that Arthur’s people loved him, he would need that love if his people were going to trust him enough to let him create Albion. Arthur stepped off the field, chest heaving, eyes alight with achievement. He stopped next to Merlin, turning to watch as Valiant’s fight took place. It was over just as quick, and twice as ruthlessly as Arthur’s. Merlin looked over at the now frowning, sweat stained, blond prince: He needed to do something, or tomorrow’s fight would be Arthur’s last.

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Merlin

“There is no need to attend me tonight” Arthur informs me as I pick up his Armor and laundry for tomorrow “The competing Knights are required to dine with the King tonight, and it won’t be over until late. The rest of the evening is yours.”

I glance up from where I’ve been turning down his bed, my heart speeding up “All the knights will be with the King?”

“I do believe that is what I just said. Are your ears not working Merlin?” I barely hear him over the blood rushing through my ears – this is the chance I need: the chance to find evidence. I quickly gather Arthur’s laundry and Armor, excusing myself as I all but run out the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then!” Arthur shouts after me, head poking out his door.

Sneaking into Valiant’s chamber is easier than I thought it would be, and I quietly close the door behind me, heart thudding. The first place I look is a locked trunk (easily unlock-able with my Magik), but I find nothing of interest to Magik in there. The rest of my search proceeds in much the same way, dead end after dead end: nothing besides the shield pertains to Magic, nothing that will help me call forth the snakes. I am about to give up hope (how long can one rifle through someone’s things without it getting awkward?) when something moves behind me, casting immense shadows on the wall. Slowly I turn around to face the intruder, terrified of what I will find. Rising from the shield, fangs bared, loud hiss filling the room, is one of the three snakes.

Slowly, so as not to startle it, I run my hand along the wall, reaching towards the rack of swords Valiant conveniently keeps there. The snake lunges just as I draw the sword, it’s head falling to the floor. Two more snakes unfurl from the shield, and I know the shear dumb luck I had with the first is not going to help me with these. I grab the fallen head and run out the door, skidding to a halt in front of Gaius’.

Gaius’ looks at me for a second, as I hold out the snake head, before he grabs it and a vial “I’ll get started preparing the antidote.” That’s it, no more questions, no suspicious looks, no reprimands.

“I’m going to tell Arthur” I test the waters trying to gauge his reaction, but he surprises me yet again, by simply tossing the snake head back to me.

“You’ll need this.”

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Arthur

The dinner with my father and the Visiting Knights was long and arduous, filled with nothing but the knights and king fawning over Valiant. My chambers are dark and empty when I return, the bed turned down, and fire already lit. The room seems empty, devoid of life – I wish I hadn’t excused Merlin for the night, his incessant chatter would be perfect right now. If anyone could take my mind off Valiant, and cheer me up, it would be that bumbling idiot.

Slumping into the heavily fur covered chair in front of the fireplace, I tug off my boots, chucking them into a corner. Merlin can take care of them tomorrow. My head is pounding, and stomach growling, the smug look on Valiant’s face all through dinner was too off putting for me to take a bite of food.

Suddenly the door is thrown open, and a body is hurtling inside, tripping over itself, before sprawling onto the floor. Merlin sits up groaning, rubbing his head where he hit it on my table.

“Generally, ‘take the night off’, means you don’t come into work.”

Merlin starts slightly, spinning to look at me, before pushing himself to his feet. “I have something I need to show you” His hand, which I previously assumed to be empty, is holding something out to me.  “It came out of Valiant’s shield, so I cut it off and brought it to you. Valiant is using Magik.”

He wags his hand, and the object at my face. Irritated, I grab it from him, nearly dropping it as I register the snake head, I am now holding. “You? You, chopped its head off?”. Just another item to add to the growing list of confusing qualities. Merlin looks and acts as though he hadn’t seen a sword before the tournament, how could he have mastered the technique needed to chop off a snake’s head this cleanly? And when?  

“Ewan was bitten by a snake from the shield when he was fighting Valiant. You can talk to Gaius. You can see the puncture wounds on Ewan’s neck where the snake bit him. Ewan was beating him, he had to cheat.” Merlin is beginning to sound hysterical, at some point during his tirade he’s stepped closer to the table, leaning heavily on his hands, a glint in his eyes I’ve never seen there before.

But no matter how close he gets, how stressed he sounds, I find his story hard to believe. Why would someone knowingly use Magik in a kingdom famous for its prosecution of Magik users? “Valiant wouldn’t dare use Magik in Camelot.”

He pauses for a second, head cocking to one side, like a confused puppy. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to come up with a plausible explanation. “Ewan was pinned under Valiant’s shield. No one could see the snake bite him.”

“I don’t like the guy, but that doesn’t mean he’s cheating.” It’s nice of him to try to cheer me up this way, but he shouldn’t go creating such wild stories. There is a sound outside, a loud clanging, and I jump up to see what is happening, who is disturbing the piece of the night. Sir Valiant is in the yard, practicing against a dummy, his sword clashing against a shield creating the loud ringing. He glances towards my window, and smirks, before bowing, and leaving the yard. Tosser.

“Gaius is preparing an antidote to the snake venom.” I turn to face Merlin, and feel my skin crawl at the change that has over taken him. He’s stepped closer again, and stands tall, and proud, head held high, voice sure of he’s saying - steady and commanding. Gone is the bumbling idiot who fell head over heels into my room, in his place stands a seasoned diplomat.  “When Ewan’s conscious he’ll tell you what happened. If you fight Valiant in the Final, he will use the shield. It’s the only way he can beat you.” He picks up the snake head from where I had left it on the table, holding it out to me “Look at it. Have you ever seen any snakes like this in Camelot?” I take it from him, glancing it over more thoroughly. He is right, I have never seen a bread of snake such as this in Camelot before. “I know I’m just a servant, and my word doesn’t count for anything, doesn’t mean anything -”

I glance up from my examination surprised, these are not the words of an idiot, none of them have been. In this moment I realize what he has done, as any good Ambassador, Diplomat, King, or Prince should, he argued me into his way of seeing, convinced me of his point of view, while I was none the wiser. His face is beseeching, eyes soft, pleading for me to believe him, as he goes in for the kill shot.

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

I pause for a second, searching his face for any reason to say no. But his reasoning makes sense, and he believes strongly in it – enough to try and manipulate me (an offense punishable with death, the idiot) “I want you to swear to me what you’re telling me is true.”

“I swear it’s true.” He hadn’t even taken the time to breath. That seals the deal then.

“Then I believe you.”

His shoulders visibly slump, losing the tension they held a moment before. In a blink of the eye, he goes from being the foreign dignitary I did not know, to my bumbling happy servant. I am one step closer to solving the mystery that is Merlin, and he doesn’t even know it.

“Since I’m here, do you need help with your bedclothes?” he smiles lopsidedly, suddenly halfway across the room, pulling clothing from the trunk at the foot of my bed. I suddenly feel cold, having not noticed just how close he was standing.

“I am nearly of age _Mer_ lin. I _never_ _need_ you to dress me. I can do so on my own.”

“AH, so you don’t want my assistance, then?” he says as he begins putting all the clothing back, a lopsided smile gracing his face.

Quickly I grab my shirt from his hand. “I never said that.”

He does have a rather nice laugh. Whoever he turns out to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested, you can check the accompanying story for notes to this chapter (I will also update it for the missing notes of last chapter).
> 
> Wishing you a Wonderful Weekend,
> 
> AncientBookLover


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